


Suds 'n Sighs

by LipstickAndWhiskey (CopperMarigolds)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hair Washing, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndWhiskey
Summary: Sam’s dislocated his shoulder and can’t wash his hair properly. Reader to the rescue! ;)





	

You couldn’t believe it. Who knew Sam could get so unbelievably grumpy?

Sam was currently groaning and griping about his current predicament, his discomfort made glaringly apparent.

It was a routine salt n burn. He scared the hell out of you when you finally torched the sucker, finding him slumped unconscious against the old oak that stood tall above the graveyard. He had a concussion along with a dislocated shoulder. You had to get Dean to help you pop his shoulder into place, and stayed up a few hours with Sam to make sure the concussion wasn’t severe. Luckily it wasn’t, but he was slightly confused for awhile.

Sam was back to normal for the most part, but he kept complaining about his sore shoulder. You only let him have paracetamol for the pain, scared that any alcohol or other pain meds might have a negative effect because of the slight concussion from earlier. He’d complained, claiming he was fine, but you weren’t taking any chances and Dean backed you up on the decision.

You also made Sam wear a sling for his arm, insisting that he rest it so his shoulder wouldn’t have any lasting nerve damage. He bitched about that too, but the dirty look you shot him shut him up fairly quick.

His biggest gripe was that he couldn’t shower properly. You felt bad for him, the poor thing was having a hell of a day. Though he cleaned up fairly well with only one arm, he couldn’t manage to wash his hair that way.

He sat on one of the dingy motel beds, grumbling about the state of his hair.

“I still feel like I’m gross- my hair has dirt still in it.”

You’d had nearly enough of his sour mood.

“Just relax. I’ll wash your hair for you. No need to get your panties in a twist, Winchester.”

He sat there staring at you as if you’d suggested he shave his head bald. You grabbed him by his good arm, hauling him toward the bathroom. You stood him by the sink and ducked back into the main room to grab a table chair from the dining area. Setting the chair in front of the sink, you motioned for him to sit.

“You don’t have to do this for me you know,” Sam claimed.

You groaned. “Of course I do, Sammy. You’ll feel better and it will give me something nice to do for you. Now sit down.”

Sam watched you for a second before taking a seat, his long legs sprawling apart on the chair. You set the stuff up to wash his hair- towel at his neck, shampoo and conditioner on the sink. You angled his head back toward the sink as you checked the water temperature, asking him what he thought.

“A little too hot,” he said. You adjusted accordingly before testing again. “Oh, that’s perfect.”

Your hand placed along his hairline kept the water from spraying his face, soaking his hair through. His hair color deepened with the water, turning his chestnut locks a warm chocolate brown. Squeezing a dollop of his shampoo into your hand, you smoothed it over his hair. You rubbed it in, lathering the shampoo into a nice foam. Your fingers combed through his hair, leaving defined ridges in their wake.

Glancing at Sam’s face, his eyes were shut, mouth slightly agape. His whole body was starting to sag, comfortable and relaxed where he was. You started to massage the shampoo through his hair, thumbs pressing in circles at his hairline drawing a soft hum from him.

You continued, pressing practiced fingers against his scalp as he relaxed even further. Your fingers pressed into his thick mane, fingertips running across his scalp. Soon his hums turned to low satisfied moans, their suggestiveness making heat rise in your cheeks. By the time you rinsed his hair out, making sure there were no stray suds, you were sure your face was on fire. You were honestly surprised it hadn’t spontaneously combusted into flames.

Taking the towel from around his neck, you placed it over his hair, squeezing to get the extra water out. Tossing the towel aside, you squeezed a small amount of leave-in conditioner into your hands and warmed the product between your palms. Gliding the conditioner over his drying hair, you reveled in the silkiness of it. He had a full head of hair, a few grays peeking out here and there that you adored. They made him distinguished, you decided.

The heat in your face was under control now as you finished up with his hair, the moans having stopped with the shampooing. His large hot hand at your hip made you pause momentarily, the gesture entirely new between the two of you. Looking down at him, his eyes slowly opened, a completely blissed-out lazy smile plastered to his face.

You reluctantly pulled your hands from his hair, letting one hand rest on his shoulder, the other on the arm that he was using to hold your hip. “Thank you,” he said, voice raspy from disuse and relaxation. “That was nice.”

You shrugged sheepishly, unsure what to reply with. You decided against a reply, instead patting his arm as a sort of “you’re welcome”. You knew that even if you came up with something to say, that your voice would fail you anyhow.

He pulled you closer, fingers pressing against the fabric of your jeans. You went willingly, your legs unable to do anything more than follow his silent request.

“I want to thank you properly,” he said, voice hardly above a husky whisper. His hand left your hip and trailed up your arm, curling around your neck and slowly pulling your face down to his. He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign that what he was doing was out of bounds or unwanted.

Hell if he thought you didn’t want this. You’d spent far too long thinking about it, wondering if he saw you /that way/- as more than a friend. You certainly saw him as more than a friend- your crush on him getting bigger with each passing day.

What you didn’t see was the longing looks he sent you, irritating the hell out of Dean. He’d kick Sam under the table, giving him a ‘seriously, dude?’ look, a silent conversation starting between the two.

Sam buried his feelings deep down, locking them away in a box in the deep depths of himself. He didn’t realize that you were like a light, shining bright over every inch of him. That you were capable of lighting even the darkest parts of him with just a smile. Somewhere along the way, you found that dark corner and broke open that box. He figured you smashed the lock as soon as he felt your small hands in his hair, taking great care with him. The position he was in required a degree of trust, and he willingly sat and let himself be vulnerable.

Your closeness intoxicated him, testing his limits. Every nerve ending hummed when you were near, an electric burst of energy that made his heart speed. With your mouth so close, he could barely think.

You nodded your assent, wetting your lips with the pad of your tongue. The action made his eyes darken, the brown in his eyes overwhelming the greens. In his relaxed state, he pulled you down to meet his lips, a soft slow meeting. He was like cocoa butter, a warm and rich glide to him.

Velvety soft lips caressed yours, methodical yet lax with their exploration. He kept it chaste for the most part, enjoying the feel of you against him. You stepped closer to him, further into his embrace as your hand climbed his neck and back into his quickly drying locks. His content hum had you digging fingers further into his hair, a needy noise escaping him as you lightly pulled the strands in your grasp.

His hand fell and his fingers pressed at your hip again, urging you closer. Swinging a leg over his legs you straddled him, pushing up close as his hand dipped to your thigh, urging you chest to chest. He suddenly jerked, a startled yelp falling against your lips. You reared back, concern flooding you.

“Oh crap, I forgot! Is your shoulder okay?” Your hands hovered hesitantly over his shoulders, afraid to hurt him again.

His free arm wrapped around your waist, holding you to him. “I’m okay. I just forgot about my shoulder and moved my arm. It’s sore as hell.” He pressed forward and kissed you soundly, reassuring you that he was, in fact, okay.

His languid kisses nearly had you melting, hands framing his face as he continued to damn near worship your mouth, showering you in affection. He licked at your bottom lip, slow and sexy, begging you to open your mouth to him. Your fingers slid back to his neck, curling into the hairs at the nape of his neck as you parted your lips. You expected him to dive in, but instead he nipped at your bottom lip, dragging blunt teeth across the plump expanse of your lip.

Your breathing came quickly now, your heart beating wild against your chest. You were too preoccupied enjoying yourself to think about how many times you’d imagined kissing Sam before and how reality blew that out of the water. All you could think of was the warm press of him, his large hand pressed against your side, fingers splayed wide across your ribs. The way his fingers dug into your soft flesh, holding onto you like you could disappear at any moment.

You pulled away with great effort, trying to catch your breath. You sat in his lap, gazing at him for a long moment before pressing a kiss to each corner of his mouth, smiling down at him.

He squeezed your side, a big dumb grin on his face. Pushing his nose against yours, he chuckled.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long. Can’t believe I finally got to.”

You grinned harder, toothy and carefree under Sam’s gaze. “You know, I wouldn’t argue if you wanted to do that some more.”

He laughed, breathy and light across your mouth. “You better believe I’m going to.” And he dove for your mouth again.


End file.
